Yellow roses
by Niflheim07
Summary: Maybe this was what Ron needed, a nobody's life, a different life.


**A/N:** This was written for the Someone Else Challenge. Hope you like it :)

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Ron was standing nervously in front of a neat, simple and beige door next to a muggle street, in a muggle neighborhood. Looking from side to side, he drew his wand out of his jacket and conjured some nice, yellow roses. Alright, he shouldn't have done that, but the only one who saw him was that creepy black cat on the fence next to him. Surely, Hermione would scold him if she found out about his bit of illegally performed magic, and her face came to his mind, a disapproving look piercing him and so nervousness came back. Passing the flowers from one hand to another, he knocked the door, his thoughts racing on his mind, going nowhere, like he had done for a while.

Right after Voldemort's fall, they all went back to the Burrow, but Ron couldn't get rid of the overwhelming grief his brother's loss had placed upon the site, upon his family's faces, his own reflection in the mirror. He kept walking around the muggle town near, and when Fred's funeral came, he just disappeared. Later that day, he went back to the Burrow and found Harry sitting on a bench in their garden. They talked briefly, Harry still seemed in shock after all that happened, and they got into the kitchen when it was almost twilight. At first, it seemed like no one cared about his absence in Fred's burial, but then Mrs. Weasley came around, turned to him and restrained tears started falling from her eyes. Hastily, Ron climbed up the stairs and got to his room, falling harder on his bed. He just wasn't ready to do that, to handle that kind of farewell. Harry opened the door, muttered a _Hi_ and also got on his bed. Suddenly, an idea popped into Ron's mind.

"Hey mate," Ron whispered anxiously to the shadowy figure on the bed next to his, "where's Hermione?"

After a while, Harry turned lazily, not meeting his gaze, and yawned.

"'M not sure, said something 'bout going to her parent's place." Harry finally met his blue eyes, and suppressing another yawn, the turned to the wall again. Ron's gaze lingered for a while on Harry, an internal war being held inside him. After a brief moment of complete silence, Harry turned, stirred on his bed and sat upright, sighing.

"You should talk to her, mate, go there."

Harry's eyes were fixed upon Ron's troubled expression, and when he raised his eyebrows with a touch of impatience, Ron got up from his bed and, mumbling something Harry couldn't figure out at all, he disappeared with a faint pop.

And now there he was, waiting for Hermione to open the door, freezing and damning his stupid jacket, which was nicely hung in his closet. After some disguised looks through the windows, Ron knocked again, a bit impatiently. He heard footsteps and the door was opened briskly. Hermione stood in the middle of the hallway, her wand at the ready and she looked shocked for seeing him there.

"Oh, it was you…" she said, and lowering her wand, beckoned him to get inside. Ron examined quickly the corridor: it was white-painted, though it seemed as though it needed a bit of cleaning; photographs of a certain girl with bushy, brown hair were on the walls, showing her growth through the years. The carpet was full of dust, and some papers and pens were lying carelessly on the floor. Hermione closed the door and walked to a room on the right of the hallway. Ron followed her and when they entered, he realized it was the kitchen, but he noticed it had been cleaned up recently. Hermione leaned on the dishwasher and tried to smile at him, but it looked more like a grimace. Ron took a few steps ahead and offered her the flowers.

"Here, hmm, they're for you, hope you like them."

He blushed briefly and stared out the small window on the wall next to him. Hermione laughed, thanked him, looked on a shelf on the left for a vase and put the roses there. When she turned, Ron was giving her glances from the corner of his eyes, and sometimes looked at her with such affection that made it her look away.

"So, you're gonna go for your parents now?" Ron said casually, trying to soothe the tension between them. Hermione just nodded, and so did Ron.

"Why did you come, Ron?"

Her voice seemed cold, and Ron frowned.

"I just wanted to see you, what's wrong with that?" he said somewhat angrily and a bit harsher than he meant to. When Hermione didn't say anything at all, he cleared his throat and stumbled over his next words, stuttering.

"Look, Herm, about the other night… w-well, the… the kiss and that, I-I thought, you know, we could like take it to the next level, m-make it official…"

Hermione turned at him, and Ron got closer, hopefully, but Hermione stepped back.

"For Merlin's sake, Ron, just don't," she said, trying to get more space between them. Ron stood frozen, really trying to understand what Hermione said when she rushed out of the kitchen, and Ron hastily followed her. He took her arm when they were on the hallway and made her look at him.

"What the heck are you talking about, Hermione? 'Just don't' what?

She tried to get loose from his grip, but he was much stronger than her and he seemed to be holding her for dear life. When she stopped writhing under his fierce grasp, she finally said something.

"It was a mistake, Ron, I-I just got carried away, that's it. It shouldn't have happened, it will not happen again," she said, firmly.

Ron let go of her, and only managed to stammer a few words.

"But _you_ kissed _me_…" he said, his voice breaking down.

"I know, I'm sorry," and Hermione looked straight into his eyes, hers wet, "I'm really sorry, but I won't make the same mistake again."

"I love you, you know I do"

"I know, Ron, and I love you too! But just not that way, please don't make it even more difficult. Just don't, Ron," her voice seemed about to burst into sobs but she continued looking at him, who was speechless. Finally, Ron spoke.

"It is him, right? The Boy Who Lived…" Ron was turning red, filled with anger, "or maybe you never stopped loved that bloody Krum bloke!"

He was pointing to her chest with his index finger, and Hermione finally burst into tears.

"No! It's not—it's nothing like that, and you know it!" Hermione cried, clearly hurt by Ron's words, sobbing more and more. "It has nothing to do with anyone else; I'm just not in love with you, Ronald, face it!"

Without saying anything else, Ron stormed out of the house to the front garden, where the black cat was still around. He looked its curly tail, its deep brown eyes… Since when do cats have brown eyes? And he disappeared into thin air when the first tear trailed down his face.

He ended up in a magic town near Norwich, next to a faint river, on the left bank. He was crying, and though he didn't want to, he was nowhere to be seen so he stopped caring about it. Bitter thoughts invaded his mind, making him clench his fists in disbelief and pain. He had always had a good family, good friends, but to all of them, he was never enough. He felt guilty and ashamed for it, but he couldn't stop envying Harry. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, he was just perfect for everyone. Harry's life had been tainted with death, suffering and fear, but sometimes, just like now, it seemed better the one the redhead had. He stared out in the space until tears stopped streaming down his face. Maybe this was what he needed, a new start, far away from the life he never had, from the ones that asked him more than he was capable of being. So, silently, Ron got up and walked among the streets, his mind making a harsh choice.

Ron found a job in a library—a sample of life's sick sense of humor—and he even changed his name, never contacting any of his relatives or old friends. It was a different life, where no one expected him to be perfect—in fact, no one expected him to be anything at all. It seemed good at first, but it soon became chilly, like and empty bottle, and empty vase, a yellow rose losing its color.

He always scolded himself for thinking about that. He had a new life, different from before, a nobody's life, the one he had needed all this time.

It had been five, almost six months since he left Hermione's house, and now that he had finished his turn at the library, he was going back home, walking the streets at night.

"Ouch!" Ron muttered as he came up against a man with a jacket, black haired and a bit smaller than him.

"Ron?"

Oh. Crap. There he was, Harry, staring at him with shock.

"Hmm, hi…"

"Where the hell've you been?" Harry asked, clearly upset at Ron's disappearance. He hadn't changed at all and the pain in his eyes pierced Ron's chest. There they stood, silent, for Ron couldn't nor wanted to explain, but after a moment, Harry talked again.

"Why did you leave us?"

Again, no answer from Ron. Harry put his hands in his pockets and talked, calmly but angrily.

"You know? I had some business around here, the Dudleys, but don't worry, I won't tell anyone I've met you, keep pretending we don't exist, not even your mother."

As Harry started to walk in the other direction, Ron finally started screaming at him, letting all of his feelings out.

"So it's all about you, right? Or my bloody family? But who cares about me? No one! I always need to be there for you, but no one's there for me, and you and your bloody perfect life, loved by everyone, why can't it be me? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Ron's scream echoed through the deserted street while Harry didn't move nor speak. When he turned, Ron noticed Harry's eyes were wet.

"My bloody perfect life? You want it? Then take it, I don't care. And I'll leave you alone, don't worry."

Ron stumbled, trying to say something, but Harry was already leaving.

"Just wondering, did you ever visit Fred's grave?" Silence replied, and with a faint pop, Harry was consumed into darkness. His image lingered in Ron's eyes, a mere reflection of the shape of his old friend, his closest friend ever, another brother for him. Ron started pacing the street, mad, sad, and confused. He had screwed it up and now he'd lost another brother, just like the one who died months ago.

Without really knowing why, Ron Apparated in a large, creepy graveyard next to Hogsmeade. It was a place to pay tribute to them, the ones who fell in war, all of them brave warriors who died fighting for a better world. He walked among the tombs until he found it. Fred Weasley. There were some flowers, but they had already withered, so Ron pushed them away and conjured some others. He made yellow roses appear in front of him, and as soon as he put them down in the ground, he cried, letting tears fall over the yellow petals.

"You shouldn't be there, Fred, I wish I could change my place with you, I wish it was me down there in the cold ground and not you…"

Ron lost the trail of his words, and waited until the sobs stopped shaking his body. Minutes passed as he stared blankly at his brother's final resting place, before he could manage a goodbye and Disapparated.

And again, the neat, simple and brown door, only the cat wasn't around this time. Maybe it left, just like he did. Softly, he pushed the door, but it was closed, so he used a charm to open it. It was just like the night he had last spoken to Hermione, everything exactly the same; it seemed she hadn't come back yet from Australia. Ron got worried, thinking if something happened to her, and that maybe he could go back, apologize, just be there, face the truth, as he should have done. He walked through the hallway and to the kitchen, where he turned the light on.

On the middle of the central table, there were his yellow roses, the ones he gave to Hermione. Next to them, a piece of paper said "Thank you, Ron. I'm sorry. H." It seemed Hermione had put some magic on them so they wouldn't wither as fast as normally. Ron took the piece of paper, read it and clenched it in his hand, then looked at the flowers. A bunch of yellow roses, that was all that was left of his old life.


End file.
